


O'er Golden Halls

by grecianviolet



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Romance, lokane - Freeform, lokaneweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grecianviolet/pseuds/grecianviolet
Summary: The night before her wedding, Jane dreams. Lokane, established relationship. Fluff with some redemptive story elements. Written for lokaneweek. ONESHOT.





	O'er Golden Halls

**O'er Golden Halls**

A lokaneweek fic

Prompts: First, Fake Dating, Marriage of Convenience, Family

* * *

Arms flailing like jellyfish tentacles, Jane wiggled out of her cocktail dress and pulled on her pajamas. Her feet sang with aching pain, marks from her sandal straps etched in red lines across her ankles. When she collapsed on the bed, it heaved around her like a ship at sea. Maybe that was just her punch-drunk head.

The bachelorette party had been fun. Darcy didn't need to twist her arm to get Jane to admit that. Even though she would have preferred something quieter, like a board game extravaganza, she had to admit that Darcy's idea of sampling every brand of Norwegian vodka in the liquor store—along with some questionable mixers—had led to a lot of fun at the karaoke bar later.

She certainly would never forget the sight of Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, brandishing her pumps in one hand and a microphone in the other, crooning  _You're So Vain_  while Natasha streamed it directly to Tony's cellphone.

Good times.

Despite it all though, Jane knew she would be happy when the wedding was over. Of course she was excited to marry Loki, but the bustle and fuss around the affair had been exhausting. Never one to imagine her hypothetical wedding in any detail—who wanted to think about dresses or party favors when the stars beckoned?—Jane had found the sheer number of details waiting her personal approval to be a constant stream of mild to moderate irritants.

Eventually, she left most of the planning to Darcy, who not only knew her personality and interests, but had much more definite ideas of how a wedding should be than Jane did.

See above: bachelorette party.

But Loki had had some strong preferences too. He insisted upon the ceremony being held on Friday, and the venue had been his exclusive choice. Though surprised that he'd want a destination wedding, Jane couldn't fault it; there was a rugged magnificence to the cliffs overlooking the fjord, and a clear purity in the air that made her feel as though each breath was the first one she'd ever taken.

Also, being so far from civilization meant the stargazing was fantastic.

Not that she could take advantage of it now. Clouds had bloomed thick in the sky every day they'd been there, and Jane suspected she would be looking at the view through the plastic windows of an event tent. Rain was in the forecast, because of course it was.

Groaning, she shook her head. The weather, like her wedding, like her headache, was out of her control. Everything was doubled and fuzzy; Jane closed her eyes and wished for only one thing:

That she wouldn't have a hangover tomorrow.

* * *

She dreamed. Fantastic visions floated across the hazy dark field of her sleeping mind, gone before she could grasp them. Explosions of color exploded from the black—a nebula, maybe?—but she passed through in a blink.

Then she was standing in a field, tall with sweet-smelling grass. Loamy dirt was a soft carpet beneath her bare feet. Summer was heavy in the air, the atmosphere itself verdant and blooming. She tilted her head back and enjoyed a touch of hot sunlight and a breath of gentle wind on her face.

A hall rose before her, dazzling in the sunlight. Its vaulted beams were thick as cathedral pillars, carved in intricate patterns from single, colossal trees. Its doors could have welcomed a stampede of giants, who would have marveled to see the intricate whorls of wrought iron that decorated them. But the roof was the hall's crowning glory, thatched magnificently with beaten shields of soft, yielding gold. Each shield had its own crest; Jane could see animals, ciphers, writing, plants, even what looked like mathematical equations. No two were the same.

She shook her head. Something about this place struck a spark in her memory, but she couldn't think what that meant.

Her feet moved of their own volition, winding her down a footpath towards the hall.

The great doors opened as she approached, a bare sliver providing enough room for Jane to sneak through. As she did, a raucous chorus of joyous voices spilled out into the air. Moving into the smokey hall was like jumping into the middle of a carnival.

Long tables, so long they faded beyond Jane's sight, seated thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of...well,  _some_ were people, but others...

Jane knew half a dozen alien species; the number here exceeded that by a factor of ten. None of them took special note of her as she inched up an aisle between tables, darting a glance at a face here and there. She didn't know why she was being timid. This was just a dream. A  _hell_  of a dream, but just—

"Welcome, Jane Foster. Daughter of Michael and Helen Foster. Astrophysicist. Savior of my sons."

She gaped, shaking her head as though to clear the sight of Lady Frigga from her eyes. The vision didn't fade. "Your majesty," she gasped, dipping her head, "I—what—you're," too many questions. "Where  _are_  we?"

"Ah, yes," the queen smiled, good humor beaming from her face, "I forgot. Welcome to Valhalla."

"Val—" she ran out of breath. "Am I dead?"

"By no means," Frigga held out her hand and drew her down the hall. "No, I hope and believe you have many years of life left before you. You must forgive me; when I heard news of your engagement to my son, I knew I had to speak with you. Even in death, I am a sorcerer of no mean ability. I have brought your soul here; your body remains on Midgard."

"Oh," she managed, faintly. Suddenly Frigga's arm under hers was a necessary support. Again, questions crowded her, but she couldn't decide which one should have priority. So she let Frigga continue.

"I admit, I was very surprised to hear of your connection with Loki. I can remember no women who, once beloved of Thor, spared a thought for him."

"Oh," she swallowed. "Um. I realize how it must seem, your Majesty, but Thor and I broke up—ended our relationship—as good friends. Loki and I had more in common, and the more we worked together, the more we realized it," when Frigga only smiled in reply, Jane went on, "I really want you to know that I love Loki for who he is, not because he's a prince or anything like that. I didn't like Thor for that either, but I know how it looks and I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of—"

"You needn't defend yourself to me, Jane. Your loving Loki is enough of a recommendation to be, even had I not known and liked you before. I did not bring you here to dispute your marriage. I only wanted to talk of Loki a little. He is so hard to know."

Jane couldn't argue that.

They continued down the hall in silence, any possibility of conversation drowned by loud voices on either side. Understanding now that this was Valhalla, Jane knew that everyone there must have arrived by virtue of a glorious death in battle. Many seemed to be recounting these deaths, telling ever-taller tales of desperate last stands, innocents saved, or cataclysms averted. Not the way she'd like to spend eternity, but she couldn't help but be glad, wholly glad, that there was some recompense for bravery after death.

If knowledge of the Norse gods hadn't yet shaken Earth's foundations, this definitely would.

Frigga took her into a quiet alcove, hung with tapestries of Asgard and the surrounding stars. There was nothing else there but a cask of mead, golden goblets, a rough wooden table, and a few three-legged stools. Did anyone sleep in the afterlife?

Frigga poured them both a drink and motioned Jane to a seat.

"Tell me," her eyes sparkled with warm interest, "how did it happen?"

Her tongue loosened by the strong mead, Jane launched into a description of her and Loki's staggering courtship. In retrospect, the story was tangled as a skein of yarn, with as many knots and twists as smooth, unbroken string. Jane mostly talked about their firsts: first date, first kiss, first declaration of love. Each one had its own...colorful history.

More than once Frigga laughed aloud at her descriptions of their missteps on the road to happiness. More than once, her eyes shone with tears.

"Thank you for this, Jane," she said, as Jane finished, "Hearing this has made me very happy. I would apologize for some of my son's mistrust and misdeeds, but..." her lips drew together, troubled by painful memories. "I know Loki has changed—you never knew him when he was a child—but I suppose he was always this way. Growing up under the great shadow of Odin, and the lesser one of Thor, Loki found little sunlight for himself.  _I_  favored him, as he had talents I understood, but I was only his mother."

"I know that my childhood wasn't anything like his," Jane replied, choosing her words with care, "but I understand being ignored and humiliated by the world. In a way, our shared sense of injustice brought us together. Maybe that seems petty, but...discovering that sense in another person was cathartic, in a way."

"I understand. A lifetime of slights is no easy thing to overcome," she sighed, "I only wished I had seen those slights for what they were: poisoned arrows in his heart. If I had, I might have," she shook her head, "but such thoughts do no good, now."

"Loki knew that you loved him," Jane reached out a hand to where Frigga's knotted together. "He loved—loves—loved you too. I'm sorry," she eyed her empty goblet, "I don't know...you're still alive, aren't you? I don't really know what tense to use."

Frigga smiled. "Is not love always present, even if the object of it is gone?"

Jane swallowed. Dream, vision-quest,  _whatever_ , this was way too much wisdom to process when she was getting progressively more drunk. The only solution she saw was to have more mead, and pray Frigga didn't want an answer.

But the queen's head raised, distracted. "At last," she stood, "I was wondering when he would get to bed. He was always such a night owl."

"Who?"

"Your groom," she smiled. "I will go fetch him. Please," from thin air, she plucked a wooden tray of salt bread, smoked fish, and sliced cheese and laid it on the table, "help yourself."

Jane picked off a sliver of cheese and almost groaned aloud at its creamy texture and sharp flavor. Everything in Valhalla felt, if anything, more  _true_ to its own nature than things on Earth. How could that be possible in an afterlife? Shouldn't any afterlife, by definition, be  _less_  real than real life?

Her more elevated mind wanted a debate, with rational answers. Her monkey brain thought  _food good_ and stuck with that. By the time Frigga returned, she'd eaten half a loaf of bread, two smoked herrings, and a small wheel of cheese.

Loki looked as stunned as she had, finding himself face-to-face with Frigga. Jane smiled at the childlike vulnerability and openness in his face. Wrinkles were gone from his forehead, tension from his jaw. It was as though long years of bitterness had melted away, allowing room for hope—hope for love, for redemption, for family—to revive in his heart. His fingers were interlaced with Frigga's, and though he nodded to Jane, he sat next to his mother rather than her.

She didn't resent it. How could she? He looked so peaceful.

"Your bride has been telling me of your relationship," Frigga said, pouring Loki some mead. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that the two of you found each other."

"Yes," for the first time, Loki really  _looked_  at Jane. The smile he gave her was heartbreaking in its artless simplicity. "I never thought it possible to love someone in this way."

Her throat seized up. Jane knew his difficulties with emotional honesty, but it shook her to her core to hear so openly sentiments she only rarely heard from him.

Frigga nodded, radiating joy and contentment like the goddess she was. "There are gifts I would like to give you. If I may?"

They both nodded.

"A tradition among our people, Jane, is to braid the hair of a bride. May I do that with you?"

"Of course," she nodded, hoping that her hair hadn't knotted too badly from any drunken tossing and turning. Frigga moved to her side and drew Jane's hair between clever, nimble fingers. As she wove, she talked with Loki. Gave advice. Shared sorrows. Lanced painful sores from the past.

Jane kept silent. She knew Frigga was speaking so personally to Loki in her presence for her benefit, but it was still a conversation that deserved a veil of privacy. She listened, heart aching, as Loki—almost in a trance—confessed his insecurities, his jealousies, his faults.

Frigga would not allow him to descend into self-recrimination. As only a mother could, she helped shift blame's burden where it belonged to be. Yet she also agreed when Loki touched on truth.

Nor was the conversation solely about fault or blame. Jane laughed aloud as they recalled old jokes, well-worn stories, family history that didn't rest on pain or secrets. In a half-hour, in a year, in however long they lingered in that dreamlike hall, Jane learned more about Loki—his past, his hopes, his ambitions—than she'd learned in their five years together.

At last, Frigga placed the last pin in her hair.

"Beautiful," she said, surveying Jane up and down.

"Yes," Loki agreed, wide-eyed.

Jane blushed. "Can I see it?"

"Best wait until tomorrow," Frigga said, adjusting a curl where it lay over her forehead. "It is not finished yet."

She stood, turning to the wall. From an alcove Jane hadn't noticed—maybe it hadn't even been there—she drew a crown woven of golden straw, jeweled with fragrant violet flowers.

"My own bridal crown was lost with Asgard," she said, "so I cannot give it to you. This one is a poor substitute, but I hope you will accept it."

Jane couldn't speak, her throat so tight it felt like a fist constricting it. Tears stung her eyes and burned her nose. She didn't answer. She stood and threw her arms around Frigga, hugging her as she had longed to hug her own mother, the night before her wedding. Silent sobs shook her; Frigga stood firm.

She whispered. "Be well, Jane Foster."

* * *

Jane woke, jerking upright in bed, sheets slithering to the floor. Loki snoozed beside her, expression lax and calm with sleep. The bedroom was so familiar and mundane that, for a wild moment, Jane really believed she'd dreamed it all. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror next to the bed.

A crown suited her well.

Lost in her reflection, she didn't hear Loki wake until he touched her wrist.

"Mother sent another gift," he said, nodding towards the window.

Puzzled, she followed his gaze.

Golden sunlight, heavy with pollen and summer heat, poured across the floor. It promised to be a beautiful day.


End file.
